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dred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lillyliver'd, adion-taking, knave ; a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clamr’ous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.
Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee?
Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me? is it two days ago, since I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King ? draw, you rogue; for tho? it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll make a fop o'th' moonshine of you ; you whoreson, cullionly, barber-monger, draw.
Drawing his sword. Stew. Away, I have nothing to do with thee.
Kent. Draw, you rascal ; you come with letters against the King; and take Vanity, the Puppet's part, against the royalty of her father ; draw, you. rogue, or I'll so carbonado your lanks-draw, you rascal, come your ways.
Stew. Help, ho! murder! help!
Kent. Strike, you llave ; ftand, rogue, ftand, you neat slave, strike.
[Beating him. Stew. Help ho! murder ! murder
Glo. Weapons ? arms ? what's the matter here?
Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies, that strikes again ; what's the matter ?
Reg. The messengers from our sister and the King?
Kent. No marvel, you have so beftir'd your valour; you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all share in thee: a tailor made thee.
Corn. Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man ?
Kent. I, a tailor, Sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade,
Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Stew. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spard at suit of his grey beard
Kent. Thou whorelon zed! thou unnecessary letter! my lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard ? you wagtail !
Corn. Peace, Sirrah!
Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Keni. That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword.
* Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain] By these holy Cords the Poct means the natural Union between Parents and Children. The Metaphor is taken from the Cords of the Sanęłuary; and the Fomenters of Family Differences are compared to these facrilegious Rats.
With ev'ry Gale and Vary of their masters ;
you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Corn. What art thou mad, old fellow !
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? what is his fault?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.
Corn. This is some fellow,
Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity,
Corn. What mean'st by this ?
-Camelot. ] Was the Place where the Romances say, King Arthur kept his Court in the West:
mend so much: I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he, that beguild you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.
Corn. What was th' offence you gave him ?
Stew. I never gave him any:
me upon his misconstruction:
Kent. None of these rogues and cowards, But Ajax is their fool.
Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks.
Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks ;
too. Kent. Why, Madam, if I were your father's dog, You could not use me so. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.
Stocks brought out. Corn. This is a fellow of the self-fame nature Our fifter speaks of. Come, bring away the Stocks. Glo. Let me beseech
Grace not io do so; His fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for’t; your purpos'd low corredion
Corn. I'll answer that.
Reg. My Sister may receive it much more worse, To have her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs
(Kent is put in the Stocks. Come, my lord, away.
[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.
S CE N E
VII. Glo. 'M sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the Duke's
pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee. Kent. Pray, do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd
hard; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle : A good man's fortune may grow out at heels; Give you good-morrow. Glo. The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken.
Exit. Kent. Good King, that must approve the common
Looking up to the moon.